Should This Be Love
by Yasona Black
Summary: She stands outside his room every night. When she knows he’s asleep, she makes her way inside. Stalker!fic Dubcon/rape


Title: Should This Be Love  
Author: Yasona Black  
Rating: M/Adult  
Summary: She stands outside his room every night. When she knows he's asleep, she makes her way inside. Stalker!fic  
Warnings: Dubcon/rape, sexsomnia (in a way), underage sex,

A/N: This is a very different Rogan fic from what I usually write. This is also a very different look on the Rogue/Logan relationship dynamic. Consider yourselves warned. 

She stands outside his room every night. She crouches in the corner, waiting underneath the shadows. When she knows he's asleep, she makes her way inside. This night is no different. She opens the door and sidles through towards his dresser. She hesitates when he rolls over, but begins to slowly open the top drawer of his dresser. The smell is wonderful, wonderfully _him_, a smell of cigars, booze and sex. It was perfect. Delectable. But it was missing one thing. Her. Her scent. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a small cylindrical bottle of perfume. After taking off the cap, she pours a couple drops into the corners of the dresser. There. That was her. She smiled and slowly closed the dresser drawer. She dabs a small amount of the perfume onto her wrist and behind her ears before putting it back into her pocket. Walking over to the bed, she stands for just a moment, watching him sleep. He never was good with covers, his muscled torso uncovered, his sheets just barely wrapped around his bare bottom, and his bare legs stuck out. So much skin. And it was all for her.

Not that anybody knew that. Not that the smell of sex was from her alone, but all the other women he fucked. But she knew. She knew of their nights together, even if no one else did. This was her room, her time, and her man. Every bit of smooth skin on this man's body was her's to touch. Her's to feel. It was her playground. Smiling, she crept into the bed and laid her body next to him. Slowly, she began tracing her finger from his neck down past his shoulder blades and into the small dip of his lower back. Back and forth, she continued tracing. It would be soon now. Just like every night. But she had to be careful.

He couldn't wake up. He couldn't know it was her.

Oh, he loved her, she knew that. There was not a doubt in her mind. She knew he loved her southern drawl, the shape of her body, the curve of her breasts, and even her untouchable skin. Untouchable except by him. Somewhat, anyway. He always healed quickly from her small touches, and with every night, his body seemed to get better at defending it.

He would wake up drained and woozy, but would attribute it to another nightmare he couldn't remember having or angst-filled dreams about fucking girls who were far too young, but so beautiful anyway. If he did know what was going on, he certainly didn't mind it. And why would he? He loved her.

She stops stroking with her finger and he rolls over onto his back. She smiles again and begins to unbutton her jeans. She slides her zipper half-way down and throws one leg over his waist, being careful not to startle him. With both legs on either side of his waist, she hovers just above his groin, and begins to take off her top, revealing a lacy black bra. She tosses the top to the other side of the room, and slowly lowers herself on top of him.

There. He moves. He knows. His cock stiffens underneath her and she takes his hands and puts them on her waist. His hands find her waistband and finish pulling her zipper down. He tugs her pants down and slides his hands against her bare stomach as she unclasps her bra and tosses it across the room.

"Who am I?" she whispers.

There is no answer. Instead, he guides her body down on top of him, and she acquiesces and lowers her top half of her body onto him, and looking directly at his closed eyes. She rocks her body against him. Slowly at first.

"I want this," she says. "You can do this."

She rocks her body harder against him, and he arches up into her.

"You want to fuck me."

And he does. As she rocks back and forth, she leans her head into his and presses her lips against his.

So much skin. Could he handle this much? But oh, she wanted him to. She needed this. He was her property. No one else's. She clenches her hands on both sides of his body, and there he is. He opens his mouth and kisses her hard. Their mouths are open and their tongues are twisting together. They were twisting together and that was how it was supposed to be.

She bites down on his lip and he does the same to her. Bad move. She enjoyed the pain, but someone would notice the marks tomorrow. She turns her head away from his lips and begins to focus on his neck. Still rocking away at his erect cock, she barely notices that he's starting to fade.

"And you," she whispers, "you are mine." And with that, she bites his neck, and rakes her tongue along the bite marks. The mark would heal soon, but she would remember the exact spot. She frowned when she noticed that the bite marks were not disappearing. In fact, now that she looked at the rest of him, he was all stiffened up.

Too much. She quickly got off of him. But oh, that skin was tempting. He was tempting. It was all his fault. Why did he have to be that way? They could have lasted longer. He should have let her know, and then they would be able to go again. At least a few times. He loved going multiple times. It was in his personality.

She would help him with a few drops of her scent. He would remember her then, heal, and go for another ride. She picked up her jeans and dug into her pocket and pulled out her perfume and something else fell out onto the floor. Glancing down, she saw that it was the condom she forgot about.

No matter. She was with him. They would be good no matter what. Perfume in hand, she lays her naked body on the one side of the bed, trying not to touch him. Not yet at least. He needed some rest after all. Luckily, he was healing. Perhaps they could go one more round. He'd like that. She dabs a bit of perfume underneath his pillow and waits for him to heal again. One more round.

When he's healing for the second time, she grabs her clothes, but makes sure to leave her black bra in one of his drawers. It's a memento for the days that he remembers. And it wasn't like anyone else would be able to trace it back to her. After she's dressed, she stands by the door and watches him sleep comfortably. There is no noise from the hallway, so she opens the door a crack and squeezes through, shutting it quietly behind her.

When she gets to her room, seeing that the lights are off, she opens the door only to see Jubilee sitting up in bed and lifting an eyebrow.

"So who were you with tonight, Chica?" Jubilee asks while nodding her head at her friend's rumpled shirt and obvious lack of a bra.

She smiles. "A girl doesn't kiss and tell."

As Logan walks past an English class, he stops and sniffs the air. He knows that smell, that scent. It was unbelievably familiar. He glances into the class and his eyes go directly to her. To Rogue. He inhales again, but she's far away, and he can't really tell if the scent is her or not.

Rogue lifts her head from her notes and turns her head towards the door. She gives a small wave to Logan, and Logan nods back. He stares for a moment at the white streaks in her hair, and her small nose, and pouty lips, and below, and why was she wearing a top that low? People would get the wrong idea. Sweet, innocent, Marie.

"Well for once it's not Jean," a voice says behind him.

Oh good, the boy-scout.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, trying to take his eyes away.

"No? You're staring at someone quite intensely," Scott says.

"Just making sure the kid's paying attention, that's all."

"Staring is going to help that how?"

Logan doesn't answer and begins to walk down the hall again. Hopefully the pansy would go somewhere else. Sure enough, he doesn't.

"You know Logan, people are beginning to talk."

"About what?" he asks gruffly.

"You and Rogue."

Logan stops in his tracks and whirls around.

"Me and Rogue what?" he asks dangerously.

"You guys hang out an awful lot. And then you seem to watch her an awful lot. Almost like you're stalking her."

"We're friends. Friends hang out. And I'm certainly not stalking her."

"Well, you're both always in the same vicinity."

"It's a school, we're all in the same vic—" he cuts off as he sees Marie walk out the door. Class wasn't over yet, was it?

Scott turns to see what Logan was looking at.

"See?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Logan says. "Now, I've got better things to do than waste my time with some do-gooder trying to make himself feel better." He turns away, and ignores Scott's mumbled replies. Or at least he was trying to keep going down the hall. This was a difficult process for some reason. But he smells the scent again, and turns around looking for the source. Marie was heading back into the classroom. She slows to a stop right outside the door, flips her hair, and smiles at him. He nods and points towards the door. Marie takes an exaggerated deep breath and walks into the classroom.

The scent, it was her. There was no doubt in his mind. Well, if nothing else, he was going to make it down this hall if it would kill him…of old age…

Scott's voice lingers in his head. _"It's almost like you're stalking her."_ And Logan can't help but notice for the first time that him and the kid really do spend a lot of time together. Even when they're not spending time together, she's always close by. In a corner…doing…something, maybe girl stuff? In the next room over, behind him getting breakfast, behind him getting lunch, behind him getting supper, walking out of class whenever he passes by…Well, how was he to know that she didn't run out of class when anyone walked by. School was boring; he doesn't blame her.

But there are things in his room. And he's not sure how they've got there. A black bra in the bottom of his dresser, a dried flower underneath all his boxers, and a few unused condoms, that he didn't remember buying. And his entire room smells like her. It smells like Rogue, Marie. Sweet, innocent, Marie. So he doesn't mind. Although, with every passing morning, it smells more and more like Marie. As groggy and incoherent as he is in the morning, he can still function enough to notice that something's different and that something different is going on.

"_It's almost like you're stalking her."_

He wasn't stalking her. Just because he acknowledged her when they passed by, did not mean he was stalking her. Maybe he did linger a little too long outside her classes, but it wasn't weird. Besides, he was the one with a bra and pressed flowers in his room. A bra that was about Marie's breast size…The bra wasn't helping. Should he get rid of it? Or would that cause more suspicion? Why was he worried about suspicion? He didn't do anything wrong!

Sure, sometimes he fixated on Marie's curves. But who wouldn't? He was a male after all. And she was almost eighteen. Soon, she'd be legal, and…And he'd let her do what she wanted. As an adult.

He doesn't get rid of the bra. He stuffs it back into the bottom of his dresser and tries not to think that it too, smells like Marie.

She's beginning to wonder if something's up. If she made a mistake somewhere, because it seems like he's actively trying to avoid her during the day. But he never remembered what they did together at night, so why was avoiding her?

Perhaps people were beginning to notice something was up. She needed to hold back. Hold back just a bit. She waited until after he had already come and gone for his meals, before stepping out from the corners to eat her meals. She began taking more and more trips out of class, not just when Logan walked by. See, it was completely normal.

And he loved her. He knew that they both had to be careful, that they both had to pretend that nothing was different, and keep going on with their separate lives. They still hung out, but she began to hide herself better after and before those times.

The nights were still the same though. Rocking hard on his body, forcing him to orgasm with her, was still the same. Showing her love for him, proving that he belonged to her, was still the same. Every night. Every night made up for the day that she was forced to hide herself. Every night made up for pretending all day long.

Every glance he sent her proved his love. Every nod, every twisted smile, proved his love for her. And every night she proved her love to him.

One day, he realizes it. There's something very different about Marie. Sweet, innocent, Marie. He watches her pick at her food. Her face pales before it turns green, and she jumps from the table and runs out of the room. He makes a move to go after her, but Scott walks in and he stops. Once again, all he can hear in his head is, _"you're stalking her."_

He shovels his food into his mouth as fast as he can and leaves. He takes an extended route to Marie's room, hoping that was indeed where she went. The door's closed and he turns the knob only to find that it's locked. Instead of knocking, he leans his head against the door and listens in. But what he notices first is the smell. It's Marie's scent, but he can tell that she has just been sick. He hears Jubilee trying to soothe Marie in her own twisted way.

"Well, hopefully it's just a bug and you don't have a baby growing inside of you," Jubilee says. He leans closer to the door, hoping to hear Marie's response, which is another retching sound.

"No?" comes Jubilee's shocked voice. "You don't think?"

His heart pounds in his chest. Who has she been with? He doesn't remember her hanging out with anyone lately, no one except him and Jubilee. And her and the ice-dick broke up ages ago.

Jubilee lowers her voice, but he could still hear. "Do you want me to go get you something? You know?"

This time there's no response from Marie, so he assumes she either nodded or shook her head 'no'.

"Okay, I'll be back if you're okay with me being gone for a bit…Okay, I'll be back as soon as I can."

He quickly moves away from the door, and heads back down the hall. Once he sees Jubilee leave the other way, he goes back to the room and knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" Marie asked.

"It's Logan," he answers. There's a long silence before she tells him to come in. He walks into the room and heads straight to the bathroom. He grimaced at the smell, and flushed the toilet for Marie.

"Not feeling too good?" He doesn't know why he asked that. Obviously, she doesn't feel well, but he feels he needs to make some conversation.

"No," Marie says quietly, her head still down, with her hair falling into the toilet bowl.

He kneels down onto the floor the best he can and pushes her hair back away from the bowl.

"Thanks," she whispers. She's not looking at him, and trying very hard not to look at him.

He's tempted just to ask the big question, but her face was so red already, and her body was shaking really hard that he didn't want to add to whatever stress she was facing. So he just kneeled in the bathroom with her, holding her hair back every time she dunked her face into the toilet. When Jubilee comes back, she just stares at the two in the bathroom for a minute and quickly hides her bag behind her.

"I just got her…you know…medicine," she says.

"Good," he says. "I'll leave so she can take it."

No one questions why he needs to leave just so that Marie can take medicine. They all know.

When he comes back later, Jubilee is tight-lipped but full of exaggerated motions. Marie is still in the bathroom and he doesn't bother to ask if he can come in. He kneels back down in the same spot, and he can see the pregnancy test in the garbage.

They sit in the bathroom for an hour before he finally works up the nerve to say something.

"So who's the jackass who got you pregnant?" Perfect. That was the best thing he could come up with?

It's a few moments before Marie swallows heavily and turns her head to him. Her eyes are blotchy, her lips are cracked and dried out, her nose is running, and there are tear tracks on her face.

"You wanted it," is all she says.

And suddenly, everything made sense. The bra, the pressed flowers, the unused condoms. How Marie was always around at a moment's notice, and…the dreams…The ones he tried to forget, the ones he pretended he never had. And now he feels sick, staring at the girl, the kid, the one who's barely turned eighteen, who was…no. He had to go. He had to leave. He couldn't be here. He stands up and Marie turns her head back to the toilet.

"You wanted it," she says again. "You were mine."

He doesn't know what to say. All he knows is that he needs to get out.

And as he walks out the door, he hears her say,

"You loved me."


End file.
